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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.24 m
Wingspan
7.43 m
Weight
685.56 kg
Genetics
Crimson
Crystal
Crystal
Storm
Facet
Facet
Fire
Smoke
Smoke
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 10 Wildclaw
EXP: 712 / 27676
STR
36
AGI
10
DEF
14
QCK
21
INT
5
VIT
21
MND
5
Biography
 
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As a young Wildclaw from the Lightning Farm, Ammolite was chosen to accompany a Lightning trading charter seeking to trade resources with a allied clan in the Cloudscape Crags. A band of militant Ice shamans on the Frigid Floes nearby took less-than-kindly to the perceived invasion, and cursed the ship and its inhabitants to freeze before it could arrive at shore. In the chaos, Ammolite fell off the deck and, braving the freezing cold and the strong currents, managed to swim to a nearby iceberg. No one expected the company to survive, and so no rescue party was sent. Ammolite stayed inside the iceberg until it drifted away from the shamans, surviving only by the skin of her teeth. When the iceberg docked, nearly melted, on the freezing Snowsquall Tundra, she realised that she was lost with no way to return home. Everyone she had ever known was dead. Despairing and hollow from this realisation, Ammolite wandered the countryside, no longer caring about what might happen to her. Her flesh hardened and constricted, the outline of capillaries emblazoning striations across her skin. Her feathers froze, taking on the aspect of glacial ice. Still she walked, numb to everything. 
It is likely that she would have gone on in this way until she froze entirely - for Winter, when the Icefield's harsh cold would root even a elk to the ground, was soon in coming - if she hadn't bumped into a Tundra. "Help!" he cried, running past her, and when she just looked at him he sized her up and grabbed her, pulling her across the ground. Then she ran, unthinkingly, every footstep a pendulum: a constant economy of movement, only broken when the Tundra shouted, "Slow down!" She thought, then, to ask a question. "Why are we running?" she said. His face contorted interestingly - the top of his muzzle had gone blue from frostbite. "They're - hhhah - coming after me." he managed, and she looked back. They were, indeed, coming after them. Two Yetis, white as fresh snow, with black faces and hands. One was carrying a large mallet. "Oh," she said, "Oh, no!" "That's right." said the Tundra. "I, I don't - I don't want to die!" "You won't." Ammolite said, who had felt her first strong emotion in two seasons, "I won't let them." "How?" he shouted. "There's a rotting carcass up ahead!" she shouted. "Go inside and hide, and they won't find you!" "You're my guide, I can't leave you here!" "Yes, you will!" Ammolite said, and wheeled to face the Yetis. She looked straight at them, then up ahead. A snowstorm, the white death, was thick in the distance: the first of the Icewarden's great blizzards heralding the winter. She looked back to see if he had gone, and the first Yeti clouted her in the face with its paw. Ammolite screamed, high in outrage, a hunting hawk, a malfunctioning golem, and kicked it in the face with all her might. 
Ammolite woke to white and warmth. She lifted her head and bumped into the Yeti's jaw. She immediately retracted it: its fur was frozen and hard as icicles, the gaping mouth as dangerous as a Squawker-trap. She wormed her way out, flapping undignifiedly. Everything was white. Ammolite hoped that the Tundra was alive. Any trace of his bloody pawprints would be gone by now, buried under a foot of fresh snow. She thought about what he'd called her, at the end. Guide. It was not a unappealing thought. If she couldn’t return home she could at least help others go home in any way she could. He had been running from Yetis. Trained yetis. The one she had been lying under had a shock collar around its throat; she recognised the circuitry and the model. She looked to the horizon. The Fortress of Ends was somewhere out there. Deep within its crags, the Icewarden watched over his scores of prisoners and acolytes alike. Ammolite shook her head. There was no need to worry about the vastness of her job: all that mattered was that she had a assignment again, self-directed but with a definitive purpose. Her talons closed around the weapon the crew had given her. They had been laughing at the time, and she'd laughed with them, recognising the ridiculousness of it. What use would a Lightning intern have for a sword? Now she knew the answer. For a purpose: to protect. Ammolite bounded into the distance, alight with joy. |
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Exalting Ammolite to the service of the Flamecaller will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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